Load Shed: Mochila Mini

From the moment I opened my eyes in Logrono, I was worried. I felt physically drained. I took my first step, and I thought for the first (and hopefully last) time that it was going to be a rough day. My knee went from peg-leg mode the day before, garnering sympathetic stares from fellow pedestrians, to unbendably (not in the dictionary) painful. Pain changes everything, and it brought me to my knees (no pun intended). All night revelers, swaying drunkenly from celebrating an all nighter for the Logrono festival, shouted the first disingenuous "buen caminos" of our walk. As Kelsey and I walked through trash, incredibly strong stenches of urine and vomit, and a beautiful city marred, we both felt the weight, physically and mentally, of our journey. Starting before 6 in the dark, we hobbled painfully through the city, not even able to speak. I found myself gasping for air as I was holding my breath from pain. The 440mg of ibuprofen on a nearly empty stomach didn't help either, until Kelsey swept in with a clutch granola bar. About an hour and a half into our shuffle, and still no loosening of the pain in my knee, it all became abundantly clear. I needed to distance myself even more from pride and ego. I needed to not give up, but let live. I needed a post office. 

Passing woodchip crosses on the way from Logrono.

I had thought "Oh look at me! I can carry 30 pounds of unnecessary stuff across Spain. I'm tough." My brain and my cardiovascular system could endure the weight, but my body was suffering. I wasn't going to make it to Santiago without some extreme stress to my body, if I was going to make it all. Walking, really limping, along, I became fixated on purging my bag. After a week of varying climates, different albergues and the realization of how civilized El Camino really is, I started thinking crazy thoughts, like cutting buckles off my backpack and just tying straps together. I decided that if I couldn't find a correo (post office) in the next town, I was going to find the first albergue and start donating to the ever present pile of pilgrim's discarded belongings. Mentally combing through everything in my pack, and obsessing about a post office for over two hours, we finally reached Navarette. Hallelujah! A post office, and it was open. Pilgrim luck was on our side as I found a perfect sized box at a market down the street, and when I explained in Spanish my dilemma, the shopkeeper dumped out the toilet paper in the box, re-wrapped the corners with tape and gave it to me. Furthermore, Jesus, a fellow pilgrim had been sitting in a cafe across the street, had seen our break for the post office, and came over to help translate what was sure to be a complicated transaction. 

Then came the fun part, as post office patrons looked on with bemused expressions, I proceeded to spread the contents of my pack over the majority of the floor, and select items destined for the box. In went the sleeping pad (it was a convenient kick stand for my pack, propping it upright, but...), the beautiful journal Kate had given me (I'll use it in Nepal!), duct tape, toilet paper, body wash, the carefully selected camera and charger, and so much more. So much in fact, that with the addition of a few of Kelsey's belongings, this ish came to 5.3 kilos. Onwards it will go to Santiago, ready for pick-up when we arrive.

Oh my God. What a massive difference. A third of the weight of my pack went into the box. Lifting it up and hoisting it on to my back, I felt like I could go run stairs. Seriously, what had I been thinking. Almost immediately my knee felt better. For the first time I listened to some music (I was trying to be a purist, but I love music and had already sung to myself all the songs I knew), and I was literally dancing down the Camino. 

I bumped into a German man, Tomas, walking with his mother from Logrono to Leon. Last year, they walked from St. Jean to Logrono, and next year, they will go from Leon to Santiago. With an infectious smile, he described an ideal life: a gardener in Berlin, landscaping beautiful public parks, winters in India practicing yoga, and traveling to yoga retreats around the world during any time off. Hmmmmm. Kelsey felt rejuvenated too, and we powered through the longest day yet, and arrived in Najera 10 hours after we had left Logrono. 

Walking through the blissfully small town, with its cafe lined plaza along a river, we arrived at the Albergue Municipal. A slightly eccentric Argentinian women checked us in and showed us our most interesting sleeping arrangement yet.

Sleeping next to Kelsey, in what was essentially a queen size bunk bed, it's a good thing we know each other. It may be a bit awkward to wake up, and realize you have rolled over and are face-to-face with a complete stranger. The fact that it was also about 90 degrees with all the sleeping pilgrims, and most people had thrown off their sleeping bags in their sleep, all lent itself to the free form atmosphere. After 8 days as pilgrims, our bashfulness is in full retreat, and we feel rather comfortable with the public atmosphere of the albergues.

Kelsey and I decided a salad was in order for dinner and we were led to a market by our friend Pepe. Loading up on salad fix-ins, baguette, cheese, cookies and nectarines, we prepared our evening meal in the albergue kitchen, breaking bread with Pepe, and greeting other familiar pilgrims as they transited through the common area. 

Guillermo, my grandfatherly conscience from the first day, came and sat by me after dinner and as I shared leftover salad with him, he told me about his Camino. Our conversation went further, and soon we were discoursing on American social issues, the state of the environment, and the importance of family. He pulled out his camera, and we went through the 350 pictures, 150 of which aren't even of the Camino but of his beautiful family. It touched my heart, his pride in the closeness and solidity of his family. He is a patriarch and is on the Camino to give thanks for the family that God has granted him. 

A pilgrim, resembling a Spanish Rastafarian, pulled out his guitar, and the room, full of merry pilgrims, began to sing Spanish songs, American songs, really anything with a recognizable tune. An old and grizzled Spanish gentleman, with only a few strums of a guitar to accompany him, sang in a rich, deep, slightly trembling voice old Spanish ballads. Looking around the room, as the pilgrims all leaned in towards the old man, it felt like a true Camino experience. 

The moon.

Sunrise at our backs.

We allowed ourselves a luxurious wake up of 6 this morning, as we only had 21 km to cover. It felt like a whole new Camino with my lighter mochila. My mind was able to move on from the pain, and once again revel in the experience. 

My pequeno (small) mochila next to a grande (big) stack of hay.

It is a gift to be able to release your mind to roam and dream big. This can be achieved, for me, with walking in a beautiful place. A typical Camino internal monologue could be something like "do I have the ability to affect other beings through simply being happy, or do people need something more physical to  recognize  the gift of happiness." Or "the only people around me, in this painting of a land called Spanish wine country, are pilgrims and farmers (and how lucky we are)." Or on love and the people I love. Or how many pounds will I lose on the Camino (so far none, which blows my mind). 

Sheep crossing.

Kelsey and I are growing closer and closer each day. How unbelievable to find such a wonderful person, that I happen to be so compatible with. It is crazy to think we hardly knew each other two weeks ago. She is strength and calm combined, and I have expanded my mind and self with the conversations we have had.

Roadside dining.

I call it the xylophone effect. At once you are surrounded by a gaggle of pilgrims, groups converging on each other, "buen caminos" and "hola" ringing out. And then you round a bend, or pause to regard a vista, and you are completely alone. All day long, it is the xylophone effect, and you pick up and drop off Camino walking companions throughout these transitions. So far, it has been a perfect balance of walking with Kelsey, walking with other pilgrims, and walking alone.

We arrived in Santo Domingo with plenty of time to enjoy a lazy afternoon. We had run into our long lost friend, Leon, lounging in a cafe 5 km before the town. And lo and behold he was our roommate in our tiny (wonderful) room in the nun's albergue in Santo Domingo.  

Tiny, private (sort of) room in Santo Domingo.

Leon educating us on what the sound of "Najera" means in Russian.

We found Pepe eating a mountain of fruit in our albergue's patio, and he offered a meal of homemade pasta for dinner. Perfecto. Laden with vegetables and bread, we returned from our shopping trip and patiently waited as Pepe performed miracles in the small kitchen. We also scored some long sought after fleeces which would round out our wardrobe for cool evenings.

Filled to the brim with deliciously olive oil, mushroom and powerfully garlicky pasta, we lounged around socializing until we started cargo crashing. Time for rest, time to heal, time to dream of the day ahead.